“I thank you god for this amazing day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue dream of a sky; and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes.
(I who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth day of life and of love and wings and of the gay great happening illimitably earth)”
— e.e. cummings
Author’s note: For this post, I shall intentionally write in the present tense, to convey the sense of being there. Trust me, it’s worth the effort.
I just love all the subtle nuances up here. Back home, I’m swallowed up in an overwhelming whirlpool of complex, artificial information that constantly must be navigated, or it will suck me down. Up here, the immersion is much more subtle and real. The placement of every rock, shrub, tree, and pocket of wildflowers is a great and profound symphony of detail that is at the same time awe-inspiring and uniquely accessible. Perhaps I can no longer hike around and explore every rock ledge and secret crevice, but my eyes can still travel almost anywhere.
I’ve returned to the top of White Bear Rock, which is my official sanctuary for this trip. I’m trespassing in the territory of some large, fast-moving black ants, and they’re inspecting me to see if there might be a way to carry me back to their nest. I give them a few crumbs of pistachios to prevent any overly ambitious thoughts. The local bumblebees are congregating on the side of the rock where I urinated earlier. They huddle like desperate little salt junkies, licking the scarce minerals from the stain. It’s nice to know I made somebody’s day.
I’m getting my salt fix right now, too. Can’t get enough of the stuff up here. Besides the nuts, I still have plenty of beef jerky… much more than I’ll need. I planned for three meals a day, and snacks like I typically have at home, and I’m consuming only about half of what I brought. I ate some of Dave and Jen’s food last night to help make their packs lighter. The menu of instant potatoes and dried pea soup mixed with grilled sausage brought me back to my summer camp days. She cooked over a small fire with a three-pound steel frying pan, and a large one pound aluminum coffee pot to boil water. They brought way too much gear, just as I used to do at their age. I know it’s fun to bring old-fashioned equipment and cook some REAL camping food, but one must be ever conscious of the weight at my age. Now that I know how little food I really need, I could bring an equal weight, but half the meals; composed of more adventurous foodstuffs. Then I could enjoy my outdoor cuisine in the most beautiful picnic grounds ever!
The shade is gone, and I move off the rock to amble down to Wee Bear and say goodbye to Dave and Jen, but they are already gone! All that’s left is a plastic lighter and a gaggle of over 30 bumblebees frantically licking some rocks that must have been the night latrine. (I presume that “gaggle” is an apt label for a group of bumblebees, as they are clumsy and ornery like geese.) There is no chance now to exchange emails. I regret that I didn’t write down half of what Dave taught me, and there was so much more to know! It was unfortunate, but typical of the backpacking and wilderness society: no name, no email, and no reminders of life “back home.” I will miss them, and will try to look them up by Googling their nursery when I get back home.
As I enjoy the morning shadows painting on the canvas of Sawtooth, another pair of hikers appears suddenly at the north end of Wee Bear. It’s as if there is a magic portal there, and random people just appear, the way they do in Scotty’s transformer room. This couple is tired, and they shed their packs in the shade nearby. They have to walk right past my location, and we strike up a friendly conversation. They are about my age, and it’s their first time here. I pretend not to notice immediately that the man, who looks like an old country sheriff type, is wearing a flat, modern handgun in a nylon holster. They seem like neighborly, conservative types who appreciate the beauty, but why on earth would you need a handgun up here? In case you get mugged by chipmunks?
The obvious answer is: apart from perhaps a rattlesnake, humans are by far the most dangerous animals hereabouts. Snakes will try to avoid you if possible, and bears would not react charitably to being shot with a light caliber sidearm. Mountain lions are discreet and shy. However, a drunken man of foul temper on a holiday weekend could be a real problem, and a gun would definitely have a sobering effect on the situation. It gets tiresome considering this point of view, while chatting, so I warn them of the snakes, and wave them on to discover Little Bear Lake by themselves, not wanting to be a part of that energy.
I have chosen a spot where I can see what I call the “Furniture of the Gods” framed against the attractive shadows of Sawtooth, and I’m taking many mental pictures. My eyes follow the ridge all the way down to the southeast, where it becomes the knobby knoll that must be conquered by switchbacks, right after the bridge. The rest of the trail traverses up, ever up, paralleling the ridge in its westward ascent to Big Bear Lake. I had planned to leave tomorrow after lunch and be home by bedtime – ready for the next workday. I know it will be an abrupt transition (it always is), so we’ll see how I feel later today, and if I might want to go back early, to have more time to reacclimate to the daily grind. I seriously doubt it. I have plenty of food, spectacular weather (the clouds and low pressure have moved on), and excellent prospects of having the entire basin to myself for another 24 hours… if Wild Bill and Annie Oakley would hurry up and go back to their shootin’ range.
Gosh darn, it’s just so boring up here! No Internet, no animals to feed, or home to repair, no databases to keep me busy, or computers to entertain me. No wife agenda involving housework or laps around a shopping mall, and no radio or TV for baseball games. Actually, that’s not boring at all! It’s freakin’ paradise!! Tomorrow I will recharge the cell phone with a new-fangled portable battery contraption I brought, and re-enter the technical world… at least to take some pictures and video on the way out! For now, I am blissfully UN-technological, and capturing all the unforgettable images on the greatest memory card of all. It would be nice to do some stargazing in a clear spot tonight, but that would mean running the Anopheles gauntlet back to the tent. Perhaps I might muster the energy to move my camp again, down here on the foot of Dat Butte, where Dave and Jen had a relatively bug-free abode. It would be nice to hang out in God’s Parlor for my last evening. For now, it’s time to shift position again. The shade is moving, and even with my foam pads, my gluteus maximus are getting very tired of rocks!
Up here, glory and splendor clamor for attention everywhere you look. What a spectacular spot on our beautiful planet! It strikes me that if God should ever desire a church not built by man, it would have to be in a setting like this. Come to think of it, the iconic boulders I have been referring to as “Furniture of the Gods” all these years are very much like an altar. It’s ironic that I objectified these incredible rock placements as “furniture” – from a purely human perspective – when they are actually a sacred, natural site. I gaze in awe at the beauty of our planet, and what The Great Spirit has provided for us, and I pray we wake up in time to save it! We are very, very close to the point of no return. I am convinced that the only way to turn things around in the little time we have left is to monetize ecology. In other words, tax the crap out of billionaires, businesses, and corporations, but give them big tax breaks for implementing responsible and restorative ecological practices. Give them access to advertising websites in proportion to how much good they do. Abolish the concept of “non-profits” and “welfare,” and require all who are able to lend a hand, and work for conservation projects like the CCC. Of course, we must take care of the sick, the elderly, invalids, and the like, but everyone else has to work! We need all hands on deck to pitch in before it’s too late!!
Hooray, the bounty hunter couple is returning now! They can’t leave soon enough as far as I’m concerned. They are friendly and engaging with their down-home directness, but the gun absolutely has to go. From where I sit, I can see them spend some time snacking in the shade. Then they don their daypacks, and disappear back through the portal the way they came. Now I am alone. A fresh breeze rises to wash away the negative energy, and the birds resume singing. I notice for the first time that they had been silent the entire time the Man with the Gun was in the basin. Here at the height of summer, this has been far from a silent trip, with all the people coming and going, birds announcing their territories, bees buzzing busily everywhere… it’s been more like an amusement park than a cathedral. Perhaps now I can settle down and find the solitude for which I had been hoping, despite the doubtful misgivings of it being a holiday weekend and all. I decide that it’s time to go visit Bumblebee Springs and the garden on the south shore of Little Bear Lake.
Just another day in paradise. I am situated on the rock ledges where on my previous trip I had the extraordinary experience of refracted sunlight in the water. The sun is not at a good angle for the phenomenon this time of year. I am looking up at The Sentinel perched on the ramparts of Altamira Castle. Or ‘Cathedral’… it goes by many names. Today for the first time I notice a distinct columnar structure abutting the south side of the crowning escarpment, complete with disc-like capitals. While I was at camp getting ready to come here, another group of day hikers arrived. They ignored me for the most part, and I was leaving for the springs anyway. I counted three older ladies and a couple of kids… perhaps a 21st Century family of some sort. When I arrived at the springs and looked back, a single male hiker was checking out the shoreline near my campsite. It’s getting to be like a tourist trap up here! All the while, The Sentinel guards the sanctuary from its pulpit so that only the worthy might stay long enough to hear the sermon. Most hikers just pop in for a bit of secondhand sanctity, and leave before the true gospel alters their perception. They miss the communion altogether.
By the time I get to the lush part of the spring that feeds Little Bear Lake, some more puffy gray clouds are taking a peek over Dis Butte to the northwest. Gently, I cross the spring-fed pools by stepping carefully on rocks and sticks that nestle in the soft carpet of neon green sphagnum moss like jewels in a case. Several adventurous dragonfly nymphs lumber about inside the puddles, bristling like fierce alien creatures on the prowl. They are underwater predators that chiefly eat mosquito larvae, so they are my allies, and I bless their hungry little souls profusely. I move to my little Elf Throne: a nook up against the lower cliffs that’s always in the shade, surrounded by the cutest little ferns, plants, and flowers. There is a small lump of dead grass like a pillow right next to the cool granite backrest, and I carefully arrange my feet among the growth; fitting in like an instrument in its case.
My daydreams are interrupted by a high-pitched whine, and with annoyance I realize that the nymphs haven’t eaten all the larvae, because a few bloodsuckers still want to collect plasma samples. With my back to the wall, it’s easy to defend my position, and they can’t sneak up behind me like they usually do! If I want my dose of bliss to recharge my batteries, I’m either going to have to fight for it, or just learn to accept that I’m part of the food chain, and let it go. I hear snatches of voices from across the lake near the cove, with splashing and swimming noises. Despite the number of holiday visitors so far, I’m doing a good job maneuvering to places where I can have some semblance of wilderness solitude. I make up my mind to move my camp again: down to God’s Parlor, after lunch and some more coffee.
I have to remind myself about lunch by the position of the sun; not because I’m hungry. It seems strange that I’m not ravenous on this trip, what with all the extra calories I must be burning! I hope they are coming from the ample stockpile around my waist. I nibble on a few pistachios and tuck the shells carefully back into the bag. In this pristine environment, non-local nutshells are simply litter. I stand up to stretch and crane my neck upward, to follow the first small waterfall that trickles from the base of Keystone Rock behind me. Despite the severest drought of my lifetime, there is still some seepage down its face, which makes it look like a colossal, weeping giant made of stone. Below its chin, adorable little cartoon characters of hemlocks are framing a miniature spring meadow. They are so gentle and charming with their diminutive stature, drooping branches of soft, clustered needles, and quirky little Bonsai twists in their trunks, as if they are dancing with joy. Although the larger Mountain Hemlocks dominate this side of the lake, here at the spring the juvenile trees have their happy little hangout. They abide pleasantly, surrounded by lush ferns and meadow grasses, sweet trickling water, with the lake – always the lake – for a scenic backdrop.
I make my contribution to the community art project by finding a triangular rock to serve as a footrest; nestling it in a carefully chosen spot beneath my Elf Throne, which adds considerably to its comfort. I fluff up the moss and grasses all around it, so it looks as though it had been there for years. It is now past midday, and the afternoon breezes are warming up for their calisthenics. The puffy clouds have called all their friends, and I can see them off to the north, getting ready to invade the scene. But here, in my cool, magical glen, all is soft and quiet. Butterflies have joined the bumblebees in a friendly competition for nectar. Two black swallowtails do a spiral dance just for me, right in front of my face – where I could have reached out and brushed their wings! I could feel the soft air movements from their wings flapping on my face. Thank you, God, for this day! I am so grateful to be here! It’s amazing how easily one feels a natural, spontaneous rush of deep, sincere gratitude up here (if one stays long enough). The challenge for me is to find a way to be grateful for the life I have the other 99.9% of my time on this planet.
Whilst I am still seated in my throne, a bumblebee the size of a hazelnut lands on me and tastes my knuckle, as if I am a blossom. I feels weird, like getting licked by a cat. I’m not the least bit afraid of being stung, and I’m far too mellow to be startled, even though the bees are much larger here than those piss-lickers back at camp. I just calmly accept their curiosity and unshakeable sense of ownership, and they accept me as a bad-tasting anomaly. My last day at the lake is past its halfway point, and the clouds are now blocking out some of the sky. It’s time to head back to camp and move it one last time… but first maybe I’ll check out the larger upper level of the spring, if I can find an easy way up.
Ugh. There is no easy passage to the higher level (ain’t that always the truth), so I admire it from a short distance through my binoculars. The wind is now picking up noticeably, as I carefully thread my way through the tough Sierra Laurel that chokes the spaces in between the sturdy Lothlórien trees marching down to the water’s edge. The clouds must have sent out a tweet, because now all their rowdy friends are crowding the western ridge of Altamira, looking like they want to party. When I get back to camp, there is no more sign of any day hikers. Alone again, I make some soup and tea for lunch, and reflect on the people passing through the periphery of my life. When that female group first arrived, I could only hear them. They actually broke into applause coming up the trail from Wee Bear, at the point when they first saw Altamira through the trees, reflected in the emerald green water of the cove. “Oh, my God!” said a young voice in the typical California fashion, but I only smiled – remembering Suzanne – and reflecting on how appropriate those words are when seeing Little Bear Lake for the first time. My first time, I came down from the back pass with Rob and Dave, and I missed the experience that this group of hikers had expressed so eloquently.
“I who am the beauty of the green earth and the white moon among the stars and the mysteries of the waters, I call upon your soul to arise and come unto Me. For I am the soul of nature that gives life to the universe. From Me all things proceed and unto Me they must return. Let my worship be in the heart that rejoices, for behold – all acts of love and pleasure are My rituals. Let there be beauty and strength, power and compassion, honor and humility, mirth and reverence within you. And you who seek to know Me, know that your seeking and yearning will avail you not, unless you know the Mystery, for if that which you seek, you find not within yourself, you will never find it without. For behold, I have been with you from the beginning, and I am that which is attained at the end of desire.”
— Doreen Valiente